Book Two
Act I: Of Blood And Salt
Genoa
Province of Liguria
Romagna
Early Fall, 1492
The battered and weathered carrack that limped into the seaport of Genoa could not have looked more out of place. The docks were crowded with sleek merchant galleys, fat-bellied cargo holks, diminutive trading galiots and proud war galleasses, all flying the different colors of dozens of great nations, wealthy merchant families and trade guilds in a celebration of vibrant cloth, extravagance and sheer arrogance. The only other carracks that occasionally visited were warships of the Romagnese fleet, but those could instantly be recognized by the cannons they sported and for the giant flags the shipwrights had used for sails. They assembled from all sides, with oar and cannon and all the panoply of war.
This one, however, was not one of those proud and immaculately kept fighting vessels, oh no: the sails were tattered and torn, the figurehead that had once no doubt depicted a comely mermaid had lost its head somewhere along the way, and the whole ship tilted slightly to one side. She was, however, in relatively good shape compared to her crew who were now climbing onto the dock, one of whom fell to his knees and kissed it as they did. Others made the sign of the cross, some praised God aloud. Inquiries about their voyage and the state of their vessel (and themselves) were met by mysterious smiles, shaking heads and the occasional toothless-courtesy-of-scurvy grin.
The secret, however it seems, was impossible to keep. Come evening, the air in almost every tavern, inn, brothel and hostel in Genoa became saturated with either drunken boasting or wild rumors about a previously unremarkable merchant house's ship finding land beyond what had previously been thought the edge of the world. Rather unkempt-looking and quite drunken sailors spun more and more fantastical stories with every drink they were bought, and soon it became hard to tell fact from fiction. Most listeners walked home that night shaking their heads incredulously, but some – just enough – told their friends the next day. Said friends passed the tale on to equally disbelieving acquaintances, who then told theirs while underlining that they themselves did not believe in such nonsense.
Fast forward a couple months, and the news has spread like wildfire across Europe. Just like Genoa, Christendom first takes it in as idle gossip, a fun tale to tell while passing a jug of wine around. There is, however, one word in it that makes the eyes of every King and Emperor, Duke and Doge, Queen and Regent, Syndic and Lord Protector in the known world turn into Florins or Ducats or Akce or Doublons and make them do that sound of the not-yet invented cash register:
GOLD.
They say that the fastest way into a monarch's heart is through his purse. It is a bit false, since it's much faster through the coffers of his nation's treasury, but the point still stands. All across the world, rulers grab for their maps, eager to plan expeditions, only to curse the uselessness of cartographic material that reports “here there be see wyrms” where the new land is rumored to lie. After the initial hysteria, they calm down and consider their choices. Should they send expeditions, even if their fate will be uncertain? It will be nigh impossible to find the exact same place as that crazy Genoese crew (half of whom are still missing since that night). What if the news turn out to be false? What if there really here there be see wyrms?
The coming times will mark the future of the world, for every ruler worth their title (three or so) must realize that this will not simply be a race to grab the resources of the New World. The following decades might very well overthrow the delicate balance of power established among the comfortably and familiarly mutually antagonistic Old World powers.
Be it for the better or worse, the future will not be forged in the righteousness of Faith or the fires of honorable knighthood, but in the blood and sweat of colonists and explorers and in the salt of the ocean.
